


The Dangers of Ice Cream

by SadSasquatch



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, NSFW, but only slightly - Freeform, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 02:34:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15571782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadSasquatch/pseuds/SadSasquatch
Summary: Ice cream does what it usually does and begins to melt. You get messy, and Saeran gets the uncontrollable urge to drag his tongue against your skin.





	The Dangers of Ice Cream

It starts on your lips. 

Dragging across your skin, wiggling a damp path over the curve of your chin. Tumbling, it rolls across the column of your neck; a mint raindrop, winding down a marble column. For a moment, the damned thing rests in the dip between your collarbones, lounging, pooling comfortably. Shining from the overhead sun, round, perfectly plump; hanging in a tantalizingly wet orb, like a grape dangling from the vine. Swirling desire fogs his mind, daring him to swipe his tongue over it. Over you. He wonders what sort of flavor would dance across his tastebuds. Sweet, minty, of course-but maybe your skin would sweeten it more, more, so much it feels like clouds melting through his senses. His musings shatter as you shift and it rolls from your collarbones. And rolls, and rolls; paving a path along smooth skin as the clock’s hands shudder and freeze. Eyes widen slightly. His breath filters in ragged gasps; no amount of  oxygen can fan the heat snaking through the pit of his stomach. Fingers wrap tighter. Suddenly it plummets, driving south with all the fury of a northern downpour’s first raindrops. As it reaches the curve of your breasts, brain nearly shudders to a halt; something like a gasp punches out of his frigid lips, but you don’t notice. Like a magnet, it pulls his attention until mint eyes wander skittishly over your chest. His gaze catches, sticking. Finally it plows through, trickling a path between your breasts. For a moment, it disappears from sight before melting into the fabric of your blouse. 

Saeran gulps.

Does he love ice cream? Of course. But this may be his first time being jealous of it.

“Saeran?” your voice rips his gaze back up to your eyes. Tomato sweeps over his skin until his face is blanketed in blush. He stutters for a moment, hands trembling; drips of mint chocolate chip plummeting like a downpour. Again, he gulps; every errant minty raindrop rolling across the grooves of his waffle cone sends images reeling through his mind. Saeran coughs. You might not like perverts, nagging thoughts remind. He crosses his legs and tried his best stop replaying how that ice cream wound down your neck. 

“Are you alright?” Usually your sweet voice pulls him back from the edge; now it rolls across the back of his neck like smoke curling over water. Goosebumps jump across his skin.  _ How can you do this to him, just like that…? “ _ You haven’t touched your ice cream, babe. It’s starting to melt!”

He clears his throat; if only clearing his mind was that easy. 

“Of cou—” Suddenly your fingers unwrap from the cone, sliding across to rest on his thigh. Saeran flinches. Words stutter, tripping over themselves in his throat as they fight to struggle free; they end up tumbling out in a jumbled gasp of half-formed syllables. Oh  _ god _ why can’t he just be a smooth talker for you, _ just once in his life _ _ — _

“Do you not like mint? I’m sorry, I should've asked before I got it…” Your eyes search his face, picking him apart;  _ something’s wrong,  _ and you won’t be fooled (of course, you can’t know his real problem is all the fantasies of prying of your clothing right then and there). A frown tangles with the corners of your lips; he _ hates  _ when you make that face…

Suddenly mouth presses against mouth.  _ Did you do that? Did  _ **_he? What if you don’t want him to be so bold…_ **

But then your frigid lips shift against his own and his insecurities vanish, a tiny flicker of flame thrust under a bathtub faucet. Red washes over his face again. His cheeks burn, but the sensation spikes excitement like sparks bouncing across his skin. 

Courageous, Saeran’s tongue skips across your lips. Mint chocolate chip, laced with a flavor so sweetly yours it dredges whirlpools through his chest, rewards his tastebuds.  _ Go farther,  _ the taste tempts. He obliges; his tongue swipes at the corner of your mouth, begging for entry. Your lips slip open; he grins against you. Sweeping his tongue across the back of your teeth, against the roof of your mouth, along your tongue, Saeran cracks little by little. Mint flavor engulfs him; everything is mint and freezing and he’s trying to lick every last bit of flavor from your mouth, but somehow there’s always more —he can’t complain.

“There was a little bit on your mouth,” you explain, breathless, when ice cream melting across your fingers forces you to tug away. Saeran gasps, heaving; all the oxygen in the world can’t quench the heat curling through his body.

Mint eyes trail down your body, melting down your skin. Saeran’s eyes suck in every detail, starving; he waits. You cram the rest of the cone in your mouth. You raise an eyebrow, challenging. He chuckles, voice tiny, sweet; but he’s done waiting.

His tongue jumps to your neck, curling across your skin. Saeran drags, slow as molasses. A wet path glistens in the sunlight, trailing behind his mouth. Heaven must taste like mint, sampled from your smooth skin. Shivers tumble down his spine when you gasp, sticky fingers tangling through his hair. Your nails graze his skin; a shuddering breath escapes, skips along your throat as he winds down. His cone falls, forgotten; his fingers prefer sticking to the worlds-sweeter stretches of your waist. Bold, he peeks up at you; eyes flash when they meet yours. Down he trails; now your face flushes as his tongue winds timid circles around the dip of your cleavage. Quickly, he peeks around before a finger curves over the top of your shirt and tugs it. One last swipe rolls over your exposed skin; you gasp against his tongue, reaching desperate for his shoulders as he pulls away.

“There was a little bit on you, too,” he explains, _ innocent. _

As he threads his fingers through yours, tugging you behind him toward your room, you’re struck with the impression that his intentions are anything but.

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaning out my Google Docs always yields so many fun little surprises. I don't even remember writing this


End file.
